Classic Poem

How the blithe Lark runs up the golden stair
— That leans through cloudy gates from Heaven to Earth,
And all alone in the empyreal air
— Fills it with jubilant sweet songs of mirth;
— — How far he seems, how far
— — — With the light upon his wings,
— — Is it a bird, or star
— — — That shines, and sings?

What matter if the days be dark and frore,
— That sunbeam tells of other days to be,
And singing in the light that floods him o'er
— In joy he overtakes Futurity;
— — Under cloud-arches vast
— — — He peeps, and sees behind
— — Great Summer coming fast
— — — Adown the wind!

And now he dives into a rainbow's rivers,
— In streams of gold and purple he is drowned,
Shrilly the arrows of his song he shivers,
— As though the stormy drops were turned to sound;
— — And now he issues through,
— — — He scales a cloudy tower,
— — Faintly, like falling dew,
— — — His fast notes shower.

Let every wind be hushed, that I may hear
— The wondrous things he tells the World below,
Things that we dream of he is watching near,
— Hopes that we never dreamed he would bestow;
— — Alas! the storm hath rolled
— — — Back the gold gates again,
— — Or surely he had told
— — — All Heaven to men!

So the victorious Poet sings alone,
— And fills with light his solitary home,
And through that glory sees new worlds foreshown,
— And hears high songs, and triumphs yet to come;
— — He waves the air of Time
— — — With thrills of golden chords,
— — And makes the world to climb
— — — On linked words.

What if his hair be gray, his eyes be dim,
— If wealth forsake him, and if friends be cold,
Wonder unbars her thousand gates to him,
— Truth never fails, nor Beauty waxes old;
— — More than he tells his eyes
— — — Behold, his spirit hears,
— — Of grief, and joy, and sighs
— — — 'Twixt joy and tears.

Blest is the man who with the sound of song
— Can charm away the heartache, and forget
The frost of Penury, and the stings of Wrong,
— And drown the fatal whisper of Regret!
— — Darker are the abodes
— — — Of Kings, though his be poor,
— — While Fancies, like the Gods,
— — — Pass through his door.

Singing thou scalest Heaven upon thy wings,
— Thou liftest a glad heart into the skies;
He maketh his own sunrise, while he sings,
— And turns the dusty Earth to Paradise;
— — I see thee sail along
— — — Far up the sunny streams,
— — Unseen, I hear his song,
— — — I see his dreams.